


Power of the Word

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime we have more power than we know</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power of the Word

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Downloading Aliens #2, Ann Walton editor, and reprinted in Green Floating Weirdness #20 both under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"Now, look, mister, I_ didn't _start this!"_

 

          Lt. Colonel Paul Ironhorse fidgeted uncomfortably as he waited for the Pentagon elevator to arrive.  Next to him, Harrison Blackwood stood in a slight slouch, apparently unaffected by the nature of their upcoming meeting.

          _Damn the man, anyway_ , Ironhorse thought.  _How can he look so relaxed when we're about to have a private meeting with the President of the United States?  It isn't natural_.  The briefest hint of a crooked smile twitched across the Colonel's face.  _Blackwood isn't natural…_

          Shaking his head slightly at the curly-haired astrophysicist who had somehow become his friend, Ironhorse sighed.

          "Nervous, Colonel?" Blackwood asked.  The soldier would have reason to be.  The last time they'd been on the east coast Harrison had been taken prisoner by a renegade, mutant alien named Quinn.  He allowed himself a momentary thought about the alien's whereabouts and health.

          "No," the colonel responded flatly.

          Blackwood suppressed his own smile.  _Bull_.  "I'm surprised the President was able to make time for us on such short notice.  I guess these Pentagon sessions have enough breaks to allow people to do business.  Amazing how it all works."

          "When you're getting news about a second set of aliens involved in this war, it's time to talk to the man in charge, and in this situation, that's you, Doctor."

          "I just hope he agrees to establish other research groups.  Suzanne, Norton and I all need support.  We can't win this thing if we can't get the information we need, when we need it."

          "I'm sure he'll do what he thinks is best," Ironhorse replied.  Where the hell was that elevator?

          "So long as it's the right decision, I won't have any complaints."

          Ironhorse glared at the closed shiny metal doors.  "Open, already," he growled at them, and they did.

          "Very impressive, Colonel," Blackwood said, clapping the soldier lightly on the back as he stepped past him into the interior.  "Now that you've summoned our transportation, shall we go see George?"

          "Doctor—"

          Blackwood grinned.  "You really have to work on your sense of humor, Colonel.  Besides, he is just a man…"  The elevator doors slid closed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          _Well, at least that's over_.  Ironhorse had had a few moments when he was sure the President was going to be offended by Blackwood's straightforward approach, but the chief executive had rolled with the facts better than expected.  At least the Project would be getting the scientific support it needed, and that, Ironhorse was sure, would be a tremendous help.

          Walking to their rental car, the colonel marveled at how uncomfortable he was in the formal uniform he was wearing.  _I'm starting to sound like a damned civilian_ , he groused.  _I'm going to have to request a tour through survival school just to get back to real Army_.  The very thought of "going-civilian" in any way was frightening.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The Washington D.C. traffic was the usual tangle of congestion and insanity.  When he finally maneuvered the rental into the Arlington suburbs, the colonel relaxed, glancing over at his unusually quiet companion.  Blackwood's attention was buried in a thick computer printout listing the researchers, academic and private, who had been cleared for possible alien-related research grants.

          Stopping at a red light, they sat in silence, Ironhorse casually scanning the occupants of the cars parked on either side of the rental, then looked back to the light.

          _Enough_ , he thought, _we're going to be late for dinner_ , then mumbled aloud, "Change."

          The red flicked to green.

          Blackwood looked up, a slightly surprised expression on his face.  "You're getting good at that, Colonel."

          "What?" the soldier asked.

          "Commanding inanimate objects.  What's your secret?"

          Ironhorse's forehead wrinkled.  What was Harrison talking about now?  "Blackwood, you're weird."

          The scientist regarded the soldier for a moment.  _He doesn't realize what he's been doing…_  "Yep."

          Ironhorse shook his head, staring back out at the rapidly approaching twilight.

          Blackwood remained silent for several minutes as they traveled toward the secured condo where the other members of the Project were waiting for them.  "Don't you think it's time to turn the lights on?" he asked.

          Ironhorse directed a confused expression to his companion.  "Excuse me, Doctor?"

          "The lights.  The street lights, Colonel.  Don't you think it's time to tell them to come on?"

          The soldier's face folded into a disgusted dismissal.  "Very funny.  You know damn well I can't just say, 'on' and—"

          The row of streetlamps along the street sprang on, casting a pale glow across the leaf-littered asphalt.

          Blackwood stifled a snort.

          Ironhorse paled.  "They're on a timer, Blackwood.  That was _just_ coincidence."

          "Anything you say, Colonel."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Safe in the large Virginia condo, the three civilian Project members hunched over the computer printout, discussing the pros and cons of each name they found there.  It sounded remarkably like a banquet at the Officer's Mess to Ironhorse – a lot of gossip and very little progress.  After checking in with the Omega Squad soldiers providing additional security on the grounds of their safe-home-away-from-home, the colonel retired to one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room to review the file he'd been given on current research and advancements in the area of artificial intelligence and cybernetics.  If there was a chance that they'd be fighting synthetic beings, he was going to learn all he could about possible weaknesses before Katara and her friends returned.

          "I think the neuro-group at the University of Arizona sounds like the best candidate for working on locating a toxin for the alien nervous system that the radiation-resistant bacteria can be targeted to," Suzanne said.

          "I agree," Harrison concurred.  "Can you get that moving, Colonel?"

          "First thing in the morning, doctors."

          "We'll need the MicroBioTechs lab in Texas for the actual development of the bacteria," McCullough continued.  "And probably a couple of private contracts with other groups doing neuro and bacteriological work."

          "And the astronomy groups in Tucson, Hawaii and in the Soviet Union should be given the job of monitoring for the Mor'taxan fleet.  Once we locate them and can get a fix on where they are, we'll know how fast we have to have all this research done."

          "Fine, Blackwood.  You just tell me who and I'll pass it along to General Wilson and he'll see to it the individuals are informed and the money's sent ASAP."

          "Oh, and we'll need that linguist and her group at the Pentagon, too," Norton said.  "And I think one or two of the computer science research units, to work on breaking the alien's language and getting a quicker fix on their transmissions."

          "Fine."

          "You're certainly very accommodating, Colonel," Blackwood said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the too-soft-pastel-southwest-patterned couch.

          "The President gave us the go-ahead to carry this forward as we saw fit, Doctor.  Why shouldn't I be?"

          A knock at the door forestalled Blackwood's retort.  Suzanne, being the closest, rose to answer it.

          Gripping the brass knob she turned it and pulled, but the humidity-swollen wood caught in its frame, refusing to comply.  She pulled harder.  "Come on," she said under her breath.

          Seeing the problem, Ironhorse stood and walked over to join her.  "Let go," he said.

          The door opened.  Suzanne turned a startled look on the soldier.  "Thanks," she said with a half-smile.

          "At it again, Colonel?" Blackwood asked over Ironhorse's shoulder.  The soldier's retort was stalled when General Henry J. Wilson entered.

          "Your squad's doing an excellent job of security, Colonel.  They stopped me four times."

          "Thank you, sir.  Come in and have a seat.  Would you like anything?"

          "I'll take a cup of Norton's finest, if there's any."

          "We have a bottomless pot, General," the computer expert replied, wheeling over to pour the man a cup from the carafe on the coffee table.

          "Good to see you, Uncle Hank.  Debi told me to tell you hello, and remind you that you owe her some souvenirs from the Pentagon gift store," Suzanne said, slipping her arm through the General's.

          "Ah, yes.  I forgot about that.  I'll see to it tomorrow.  Colonel, stop by my office on the way out and pick them up, would you?"

          "Yes, sir."

          Wilson settled into the overstuffed chair Ironhorse had vacated and glanced down at the computer printouts spread out across the coffee table.  "So, have you decided on who will be joining the fight?"

          "Yes, I think we have, General," Blackwood said.  He gathered the pages together and handed them over.  "When can they start?"

          "Is tomorrow soon enough, Doctor?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The five talked for several hours, discussing possible problems and benefits to enlarging the circle of individuals who knew and were actively engaged in defeating the aliens.  Although the newest participants would be confined to their labs, and not active in the field as Blackwood and the others were, the Project members agreed that each group of scientists would also require a small military unit, like Omega, to ensure their safety.

          "I've picked out several individuals who have strong scientific backgrounds, but who are also highly qualified to provide the necessary security.  I'll sit down with the Joint Chiefs tomorrow for the final selections.  Colonel, I'd like you to remain in administrative control of all these units."

          "Yes, sir."

          "And I guess it's about time we considered getting you an administrative assistant as well," Wilson told the colonel with a smile.

          "Not just yet, sir.  I've never had much luck with—"

          "Oh?" Blackwood interrupted.

          "Uh," the Colonel hedged.  "Why don't we get some more coffee, sir?" he asked Wilson.  "And I have a few ideas about how to house the security units."

          Wilson suppressed a smile.  Ironhorse was entirely too military, too… formal, sometimes.  "Fine, Paul, lead the way.  Mr. Drake, excellent work," he concluded, lifting his cup to the black man.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Standing in the condo's kitchen, the two soldiers waited for the coffee machine to finish brewing.  "Colonel, you really should have some administrative support there at the Cottage.  And not just for you, but for the others as well."

          "The thought's crossed my mind, sir, but to be honest, I just don't like the idea of other people being there at the Cottage.  Our security is tight, but the more individuals who are there…"  He let the comment trail off.  "Besides, there's a certain dynamic that's developed, and I'm a little concerned what a new person might do to that."

          "You have a point," Wilson said.  "How about someone at Ft. Streeter?"

          "Then we have the problem of transporting classified documentation back and forth.  Personally, sir, I think we can continue as we have been.  I use the Omega sergeants when it gets to be too much, and that's proved a functional solution."

          Wilson smiled.  "I know.  A Sergeant Derriman forgot to remove the personal comments from the printout of electronic mail messages that detailed the Omegans' activity while you were being held by Katara."

          Ironhorse felt the embarrassment color his ears red.  "I see.  I'll have to have a word with the Sergeant when we get back to the Cottage."

          "Oh, no need, Colonel.  I enjoyed and appreciated the more personal evaluation of the situation."  Looking over at the coffee pot, now dripping intermittently, Wilson sighed.

          "Enough already," Ironhorse muttered under his breath, reaching out for the handle, intent on yanking the pot out and sticking his cup under the spastic flow so he could pour his commanding officer a cup.  However, the drip stopped, one final drop clinging, but refusing to fall.

          "Good work, Colonel," Wilson said with a chuckle.  "I've tried that a few times, but it never seems to work for me.  I guess you have the touch."

          "The touch, sir?"

          "The coffee," Wilson said, nodding.  "It must have heard you."

          "Has Blackwood been talking to you, sir?" Ironhorse asked suspiciously.

          Wilson's forehead wrinkled.  "About what?"

          "Nothing," Ironhorse said, quickly filling the two cups and then the carafe.  "I think we'd better get back and let them explain how many people they need."

          "Sounds good to—"

          The high pitched hum of the alarm system sounded, cutting the General off.  With Ironhorse he moved into the living room, where the colonel reached for his radio and keyed the mike.  "Report."

          "Sir," came Stravakos' voice.  "We registered a breach in sector three…  Alverez is checking— Just a second—"  The line went dead.

          "Get down," Ironhorse commanded the others, drawing his sidearm and starting for the window.

          "Gertrude, back seven," Norton told the voice-activated wheelchair, but it caught in the thick carpet after three feet.  "Come on, baby, don't fail me now."

          "Gertrude, move," Ironhorse commanded as he forced his way between the couch and the chair and its occupant.  Gertrude obligingly rolled the remaining four feet backward.

          Reaching the window, Ironhorse scanned the grounds, ready to offer the others what protection he could.

          Norton glanced down at the wheelchair, his eyes wide with disbelief.  As he'd once explained to Debi, he and Gertrude were monogamous.  "Unfaithful wench," he muttered.

          The radio still clutched in the colonel's hand crackled back on.  "False alarm, sir.  It's just a kid.  He's clean.  Says he works for the golf course next door.  He was out looking for lost balls and tripped one of the outer sensors."

          There was a collective sigh of relief.  "Good work, Sergeant.  Escort the boy off the grounds and give him our apologies."

          "Yes, sir.  He is a little rattled."

          "He's rattled?  Since when have you and Gertrude gotten so intimate?" Drake asked.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "I can't believe it.  That was a very productive trip," Suzanne said as she carried her bag into the Cottage.

          "Very," Blackwood concurred from behind her.  "A few more like that and we'll be able to really win this thing."

          Mrs. Pennyworth stepped into the hallway, a happy smile on her face.  "Welcome home, Doctor, everyone.  There's coffee waiting for you in the living room."  Looking at Suzanne, the housekeeper/tutor nodded up the stairs.  "Debi should just be finishing her essay in fifteen minutes and then she'll be down.  You're early."

          Suzanne nodded.  "Talk to the Colonel, he said he wanted to get back as soon as possible, and we got a tailwind the entire trip!  Debi'll be happy as soon as she sees the haul Uncle Hank found for her."

          Ironhorse, his shoulders squared, marched past the group and off toward his room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          After dropping off their luggage in their respective bedrooms, the four adults made their way back to the living room, where they each picked up a cup of coffee and a slice of freshly baked gingerbread, and found seats around the crackling fireplace.  Virginia had been hot and humid, but the northern California climate where the Cottage sat was damp and cool.

          Suzanne sighed into the cup and closed her eyes.  "Funny, but it's good to be home."

          "I know what you mean," Norton echoed.  "But I never really thought I'd get to thinkin' about this place that way…"

          "It sort of grows on you," Suzanne concurred.

          "Maybe it's the company we keep," Blackwood tossed in, his blue eyes pinched with humor.  "And for the first time in a long time I feel like we're making progress.  With these additional people we'll get the breakthrough to win this thing before the fleet arrives."  He looked over at Ironhorse.  "Of course, if the Colonel would just use his newfound talent—"

          "Blackwood, I thought you agreed to lay off that nonsense," Ironhorse sighed, turning his attention from the crackling fire that he sat tending.

          "You have to admit, big guy, it's looks pretty impressive from where we're sitting."

          Ironhorse put on his best no-nonsense face.  "Mr. Drake, every one of those incidents was merely a coincidence.  And that's _all_ they were.  The elevator was on the way, the light would have changed, the street lights were on timers, the door was swelled shut, and—"

          "Maybe it has something to do with the work you're doing with Joseph Lonetree," Harrison offered.

          "Doctor, it was _coincidence_.  That's all.  You really think I have the power of the word, or whatever?  That I could just say 'rain' – for instance – and it would rain?  Well, I can't, Blackwood, and I'll prove it.  Rain!" Ironhorse commanded.

          Debi bounded into the room, stopping short at the unusual declaration issuing from the colonel.  As she opened her mouth to ask what was going on, the young teenager was cut off by a deep rumbling peel of thunder.  "Wow," she said when the sound faded away.  "I didn't know you could make it rain by just telling it to.  Is that an Indian thing?"

          "I give up!" the soldier bellowed, stalking off to his office.  The echo of rain splattering on the patio outside accompanied him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Two hours later Ironhorse sat in his office, staring forlornly out the window at the steady downpour that had not let up since he stalked from the living room.  He refused to consider the possibility that Blackwood had been right.  He did not have the power to command inanimate objects, and he sure as hell couldn't control the weather!

          A soft knock dragged him out of the fantasy-horror that was beginning to spin itself out in his mind.  His voice tired, Ironhorse called, "It's open."

          The door swung in slowly, Blackwood hesitant to encroach on the soldier's haven.  "Uh, Colonel?"

          "What is it now, Blackwood?"

          "Mrs. Pennyworth's fighting a leak in the kitchen, and—"

          "Fine.  I'll have one of the Omegans get repairs—"

          "No, Colonel…"  Blackwood fidgeted.  He took a deep breath, held it a moment, then said as sincerely as he could, "Actually, I came in to ask you if you'd just tell it to stop."

          The soldier's usually stoic face clouded over darker than the storm outside.  "Blackwood, I've had about all of this that I can take.  It's all a load of sh—"

          "Colonel!" Mrs. Pennyworth said from behind the astrophysicist.  "It's not _that_ bad.  I managed to find a bucket in the storage closet so we'll be fine for the time being.  But I afraid someone's going to have to take a look at that roof when the rain lets up… If it lets up."

          "I'm working on that," Blackwood said under his breath.

          Slightly chagrined about his near profanity, the colonel nodded mutely and waited for the woman to leave.  When he was sure she was gone, he motioned Blackwood to enter and close the door behind him.

          "Now, look, mister.  I _didn't_ start this!"

          "That's not the way it looked to me, Colonel."

          "Damn it, that's impossible!"

          "So indulge my silly flight of fantasy, look out the window, cast your gaze upward, and tell it to stop."

          "And if it doesn't?"

          "Then you can call me weird, crazy, deranged."

          "I do that already."

          "See, you have nothing to lose."

          Ironhorse considered the request.  Deep in his chest he felt a slight pinch of fear.  "Harrison, what if it does?"

          "I suppose you could call it another coincidence, but personally I think God, or whatever you care to call him, her, or it, is having a helluva good laugh at your expense.  And I have to tell you, Colonel, it's damned entertaining from this angle, too."

          "You're a big help, Blackwood."

          The man smiled one of his patently cheery grins that always infuriated Ironhorse.  "Aren't I, though?  Now, go on.  Make the rain stop."

          Ironhorse turned back to look out the window.  The rain was still falling with the same steady drizzle that promised not to let up anytime soon.  _It's hopeless_.  He paused.  Was he actually starting to hope that he could control the weather?  _Get a grip, mister_ , he commanded himself.

          The black eyes searched out a particularly black cloud.  The colonel opened his mouth to speak…

          "What are you waiting for?" Blackwood asked.      

          Ironhorse shifted uncomfortably.  "Would you mind stepping outside and closing the door?"

          "Absolutely not, Colonel."

          Ironhorse met the man's twinkling blue eyes.  _Damn you, Harrison, you're enjoying this!_

          "I just don't relish stepping hip deep in humiliation with you watching me, Doctor."

          "Think of me as your impartial scientific observer."

          "I'd like to tell you what I think of you as—"

          "Excuse me, Paul.  I couldn't quite hear that."

          "Never mind!" the colonel snapped, turning back to the task at hand.  _This is not going to work.  I couldn't have started it to begin with, so I sure as hell can't shut it off, but…_

          "Stop," he commanded, turning immediately to face Blackwood.  "There, you see?  I—"

          Harrison's face paled slightly, his mouth dropped open, and the blue eyes took on a befuddled cast.  "Uh, thanks, Paul," he said distractedly, then left, muttering to himself.

          Confused, Ironhorse swung back to the window.  The rain had stopped.  He blanched and sat down.  _No, absolutely not.  There is no way that I—_

          A small smile began, erupting into a full-blown crooked grin.  That was some expression on Harrison's face.  In fact, Ironhorse couldn't remember ever seeing such an expression on the scientist's face.  _Blackwood was right!_   "Grandfather, you _do_ have a sense of humor, but the joke's not on me…  It's on Blackwood!"


End file.
